


We Were All Basically Alone

by hikaru



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Canonical Character Death, Community: reversathon, Domestic Violence, Gen, HP Reversathon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-07-09
Updated: 2007-07-09
Packaged: 2017-10-30 10:23:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,422
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/330694
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hikaru/pseuds/hikaru
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A trip through the memories of one Severus Snape.</p>
            </blockquote>





	We Were All Basically Alone

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the 2007 [](http://reversathon.livejournal.com/profile)[**reversathon**](http://reversathon.livejournal.com/).

_Severus never liked thinking back on his life, particularly on his childhood. While most people would reflect on their formative years with some measure of pride, Severus found only anger, hurt, and sorrow. Everything he thought he'd ever had was continually being turned around, used against him, taken away from him. But when his life devolved into merely_ surviving, _he couldn't keep running from the past. The past was the only thing keeping him grounded._

***

Severus was not technically able to remember this particular part of his life, though he'd viewed the memory so many times in his mother's old pensieve that it was practically his own.

That day, Severus could not walk or talk or even hold his head up on his own. He had just been born, delivered into the grimy hands of an ancient midwife, swaddled in rough-hewn wool and cast aside into a basket which would serve as a temporary bassinet. He breathed, and that was all that mattered. He was alive, and Tobias Snape did not stop this from happening, as he threatened to do nearly every day before his unwanted son made his appearance on this earth.

Severus Priamos, he was supposed to be christened, both names which had been passed down through generations of the Prince family. Severus _Tobias_ he wound up, due to what he was always told was a clerical mishap, but what he later suspected was his mother's last effort to gain the affections and approval of her Muggle husband.

His eyes had barely been open for a minute; he had barely been cleaned of blood and fluids, when his father strode into the room, ignoring the protestations of the midwife and the shrieking of his own wife. He scowled at the newborn baby, the child carrying his name, and then pointed a pale finger at his wife. Severus could not understand, because he was just a newborn, but he wailed nonetheless at the intrusion.

"Goddamned whore," Tobias screamed, shaking his finger at her. "I don't want it, I don't want anything to do with your filth, with that _thing_ , just as fucking _loony_ as you are!" He drew close to the woman, shoving the midwife aside, and tangled his fingers in her hair, tugging sharply enough to raise her to sitting on the bed.

"Tobias, _please_ ," she pleaded, eyes wide, one hand reaching out for her baby, the other futilely slapping at his wrist to weaken his grasp. "Please, he's _yours_ , your son! _Our_ son." Her eyes darted back and forth from her husband to the infant.

"Don't feed me that line, I don't care who he belongs to, _I don't want him_." He wrenched harder on her hair and she squealed, tears flooding her eyes.

" _Please_ ," she begged, and she was so weak for him, in spirit and body and mind.

"Fucking whore," he spat, and he released her hair only to backhand her across the face. Eileen sprawled back across the bed, eyes falling shut with a groan. The midwife backed herself into a corner, trying to look as if she was just an inconveniently placed piece of furniture.

Tobias stalked to the table where the basket and infant had been placed and grimaced at him, shoving a limp lock of hair back from his forehead, plastered there by sweat and grime.

"I don't want a goddamned freak son," he growled at the newborn, as if he could understand, then stumbled from the room.

***

_He hated it when the memories made his mother seem weak. Severus remembered her best when she was strong and whole, not when she was cowering and hiding from Tobias' angry fists._

_It was a sad story, then, that the bad seemed to so often overwhelm the good._

***

Three-year-old Severus sat next to his mother as she hunched over a simmering cauldron. Tobias was away, probably off with that bint of a secretary from the office for a few hours, or, equally as likely, drinking himself into a stupor at the pub.

Eileen glanced at her son, who stared, enraptured, at the swirling gold liquid. "Remember to always stir this one counter-clockwise six times before you add the crushed wormroot," she said, lifting a stirring rod from its holding spot and dropping it into the cauldron.

Six times around, counter-clockwise, just as she instructed, then she pulled the stirring rod back out, not spilling or displacing a drop, and hung it off the side of the cauldron. She picked up her wand from the work table and waved it at a chopping board across the room, which sailed neatly into her hand, the spindly roots and silver blade atop of it hardly even jostling as she placed it in front of her.

"Always chop the root quickly, at an angle," she instructed, flicking her eyes to Severus, who sat calmly, watching her intently. "If the roots are to be crushed, do it with the flat of the blade." She picked up the knife and deftly began cutting the roots under the watchful eyes of her son.

Satisfied that the wormroot was cut to perfection, Eileen slid the pieces onto the flat of the knife and carefully transferred them to the cauldron. "Never touch your ingredients if you can't be sure your hands are uncontaminated. The slightest change in the composition of the potion could be fatal." The root pieces sank to the bottom of the mixture, which stilled for a moment as Eileen watched it, then, as if on cue, began bubbling and rapidly turning a vivid green.

"You'll be able to know by sight whether your potion has worked or not," she said as an aside, flicking her wand at a row of beakers, which neatly sailed across the air, lining themselves up on her workbench. "It's tempting to use your magic to fill up the beakers, but try to do it yourself as much as possible. Be close to your materials, your creations. You'll learn better that way." She set her wand down again, exchanging it for a ladle and a funnel.

"Someday," she said, sparing her son a glance as she set to work, beginning to ladle out the thick green liquid into the beakers, "you'll be able to do this with your eyes closed."

And then, the all too familiar sound of the front door opening echoed throughout the silent house, followed by the heavy, weaving footsteps of someone who had had entirely too much to drink. Eileen's face turned stark white, and her hands stalled for just a moment at her work. "Go to your room, Severus. Take a nap for a little while, yes?" She shot a serious glance at the toddler, who still sat calmly in his chair, staring at her.

"Go, Severus," she said again, a bit more urgently. She filled the beaker currently in her grasp and then picked up her wand, beginning to transfigure magic objects into more innocuous items. The empty beakers became a row of vases, the workbench turned back to the kitchen table. She paused to stare at the cauldron and its contents, calculating how much longer she had, whether she should just vanish the whole brew and start over again, or if there was had another choice.

There was not enough time. The footsteps were winding through the sitting room; she could hear Tobias curse as he stumbled into the sofa. Such a pity to waste such a good potion, but there is not enough time. " _Evane--_ "

"What have I told you about your _sorcery_ , woman?" slurred a voice from the doorway.

Eileen glanced at her workspace and waved her wand once; everything disappeared, just as Tobias forced his way into the room. "Severus, go," she said, voice edging on frantic as she pushed at her son's shoulder, forcing him out of the way. "Please, just go play upstairs."

The toddler looked up at his mother, then to his father in the doorway. Tobias watched the scene with a cruel grin on his face. "Yeah, why don't ye go, foul little thing? Unnatural as she is," he muttered, advancing on his wife and child.

" _Go,_ " Eileen said, a note of fear quavering in her voice. "Please, Severus, just go."

But Severus stayed put, little toddler fists balled up in the back of his mother's polka-dotted dress. "No, mama," he said, peeking out from behind her. She tried to swat him away, but he held on tight, determined as ever not to leave his mother alone.

"Oh, keep the little thing here, Eileen," Tobias drawled, coming up close to his wife, thin fingers brutally grabbing hold of the front of her dress. "I'd rather he be here to see what happens when you practice magic in _this_ house."

***

_Magic was a secret in the Snape household. Everything was a secret in the Snape household, come to think of it. Eileen didn't seem to like providing answers to Severus' questions about why they were different, why his father hated them, why his father couldn't make things explode with his mind when he was angry and had to use his fists instead._

_But no matter Tobias Snape's intentions, he couldn't keep Severus away from magic forever. He had a brilliant mind, cultivated by Eileen from the instant she recognised that her son would be a force to be reckoned with. The boy would be an amazing wizard. Tobias Snape could not stop that, and Eileen would take any step necessary to ensure that her son took his rightful place in the wizarding world, even if it meant sacrificing herself._

***

When he was eleven, an owl appeared at the window of the sitting room, an envelope clutched in its beak. _To Mr Severus Snape, Sitting Room, 17 Spinner's End_ , it read in part, and the young boy's eyes widened as he reached forward to snatch the letter.

"Shoo, shoo!" cawed Eileen from her spot on the sofa. "None of your kind here! No magic, no owls!" Her eyes were glassy, unfocused; she was not having a good day that day. Her health had been in a steady decline for as long as Severus could remember. Severus considered the fact that he was lucky that she was alert enough to be in the sitting room with him, even if she hardly made any sense when she talked.

"Hush, mother," said Severus soothingly, already an adult trapped in the body of a pre-teen. He sighed and broke off a crust of bread, passing it to the owl before shooing it away. Severus opened the letter then and there; Tobias Snape had been gone for three days, and Severus hoped his sometimes-father would just not bother to return.

"What you got?" Eileen asked, head swivelling around curiously to peer at her son and his letter.

"A letter," he said briskly, reading it for the third time already. "From Hogwarts."

"Hogwarts?" Eileen perked up, arm outstretched to snatch at the letter. Her son deftly folded it up, shoving it into the pocket of his trousers, away from her reach. "Hogwarts! Hoggy-woggy Hogwarts!" she sang, slumping back down into the plump pillows of the sofa.

"Yes, mother," Severus said, touching his pocket to make sure that the letter was still there. If he ignored it, he was certain that it would disappear. "I've been asked to attend," he added, sinking down on the couch next to her and slipping his hand into hers. "May I go? Will _he_ allow it?" His upper lip curled in distaste at even the mere thought of his father; it was far too grown-up of an expression for such a young boy.

She blinked a few times, then looked down, staring intently at Severus' pale fingers entwined with hers. He expected more senseless babble from her, but instead she nodded resolutely. "Of course you will go. He has no choice; he must allow it," she said softly, and when he looked into her eyes again, they were clear and bright. Severus wondered with the budding of a perverse sort of cynicism whether his mother was only pretending to be ill. Tobias liked her better when she was justifiably insane, rather than just a talented witch trapped in a marriage that never should have happened in the first place. She canted her head towards her son, one shaky hand reaching up to push a lank lock of hair away from his eyes.

They were twins, practically; sallow and sickly looking, limp dark hair tangling together as their heads pressed together. There would be no mistaking this boy for anything other than his mother's son, no matter how much Muggle blood flowed through his veins. "Can we write back, then? Tell the Headmaster I shall be attending?"

Eileen nodded, pressing a kiss to her son's forehead. "Yes, I shall write, I shall write back. I will." He looked at his mother curiously; he wasn't sure she'd remember to write the letter, and he resolved to simply write the response for her so all she needed to do was sign it.

"When can we go get my books, then?" he asked, free hand still resting atop his pocket. The letter was his ticket out of this place, this hell-hole, where every move was watched with scrutiny by his drunken lout of a father. He wouldn't let go of that letter even if someone intended to force it away from him.

"Soon," Eileen said. "When we can be sure it's safe, we shall go." She dropped her chin back to her chest then, and Severus knew she was done with the conversation.

Severus nodded curtly, then threw his arms around her in an impulsive hug. "Thank you, mother," he said, burrowing his face into the crook of her neck. "I'll make you proud."

***

_He_ was _brilliant. Truly was. But oh so awkward. All the time in Muggle primary school didn't do much to bring him out of his shell, not when he knew that he already was worlds ahead of his fellow students. Not when he went home to learn how to mix powdered dragon horn with doxy eggs, when he went home to read about defensive hexes that no little boy should know, when he went home to hear how he was destined to overcome his humble beginnings._

***

He had to travel to King's Cross himself. Eileen had a bad day that morning, raving all sorts of lunatic things. Severus didn't know if she was doing it on purpose, but he was of the opinion that his mother had far more moments of lucidity than she really let on. Tobias wasn't drunk enough yet to not care about her -- or, at least, to not care about the impression that her madness would make on the neighbours. He resolutely ignored his son, which worked out for the best, at the end of it all.

While Tobias was upstairs, trying to find some way to pacify his wife, Severus gathered up his few belongings and trudged outside. He looked about nervously; he wasn't sure if his father would have noticed the door opening and closing, or if Tobias would happen to peek out the window at the most inopportune time. No time for those worries now, though; he was so close to finally securing his freedom.

Doing just as he'd read about in one of the books his mother gave him, he stuck out his wand hand and waved it around a bit. Out of nowhere, a garish purple vehicle, the Knight Bus, careened down the narrow street, skidding to a halt in front of Severus. "Here," he said, shoving himself aboard, pressing money into the palm of the driver. "Just go, go. King's Cross, please, for the Hogwarts Express."

"Well!" exclaimed the driver, stuffing the money into his pocket and handing Severus a ticket. "Aren't we jus' a demanding wee thing?"

"Please don't talk to me," Severus said flatly, scowling at the man. His mother told him that the wizarding world was going to be full of annoying people; he just hadn't expected to meet someone who irked him so quickly. "I would just like to get to the train." He peered over his shoulder as the door of the bus slammed behind him. If he squinted hard enough, he was sure that he saw his mother sitting at the upstairs window, palm pressed flat against the windowpane. "Now, please," Severus said, turning his haughty eleven year old attention back to the driver.

The man chuckled and jerked his head at the seats behind him. "Take a seat, bossy britches," he said, "unless ye feel like drivin' the bus as well."

***

_Severus did not have an idol growing up; he did not have an older brother to look up to, he did not have a father he desired to emulate. All he had was his mother, and while she was good, her spots of lucidity were growing far and few between._

_At Hogwarts, however, he had Lucius Malfoy._

***

The Sorting Hat took quite a long while to sort Severus. He squeezed his eyes shut, hands balled into little fists on his lap, while the hat hemmed and hawed over which house to put him in. "Oh, you are a tough one," the hat murmured, slipping down around Severus' ears as it pondered. "Characteristics of all the houses you have, Severus Snape. Hmm..." The hat bounced a few time on Severus' head, falling down to cover his eyes. "Bravery and courage, yes, plenty. And intelligence, oh! By the loads, boy, you're by far terribly bright, I can see it already. And you can be loyal, too, though you'd rather deny it. But I see power in you, yes, in great degrees. Cunning and bright, you are, just what Slytherin wants."

"Oh, get on with it," a bespectacled Gryffindor firstie whispered loudly. The boy's comment was met with giggles by his new friends, but Severus glared furiously out at the Gryffindor table from beneath the hat.

 _Not Gryffindor,_ Severus thought urgently. _I don't want to have to be friends with that boy_.

"Hmm," the hat mused, "You are a difficult boy to sort, Severus Snape, but I shall place you in... Slytherin!"

The hat was pulled off of Severus' head, and he sprang up off of the chair, shooting a lopsided grin at his new housemates as he made his way to sit at the table.

While the other first year students were being sorted, an older boy slid into the seat next to Severus. He had a sort of grace about him, and it seemed as though the entire Slytherin table shifted to accommodate him. He leaned one elbow on the table, clasping Severus' shoulder with his other hand. "Welcome to Slytherin," he said with a grin, squeezing Severus' shoulder. "Lucius Malfoy, prefect. If you have any trouble, please let me know. We deal very harshly with troublemakers in this House." He shot a cool glare at the Gryffindor table; Severus followed Lucius' gaze to meet the eyes of a gaggle of first years there, including the boy who insisted that the hat should work faster at sorting.

"Pleasure to meet you, sir. I'll try to make Slytherin proud, sir," Severus said, attention back on Lucius now.

The older boy chuckled richly. "Save the sir for the classroom, Severus. I'm simply Lucius. No need for those formalities amongst housemates."

Severus nodded solemnly. "Of course, sorry for the error."

"Good, good," Lucius murmured, attention already drawn elsewhere. "The Headmaster will give his speech soon, try to pay attention. Sometimes the mad old man is even _interesting_."

***

_Eileen Prince was pure-blooded; a minor line, to be sure, but she could trace her family back to its beginnings, and there wasn't a Muggle, Squib or a Mudblood to be found in her direct lineage. Sometimes, she fancied her son a pureblood, even though he clearly wasn't, not with Tobias Snape lumbering around crowing about the evils of sorcery. Despite his mixed blood, she raised him with whispers of the greatness of Salazar Slytherin and his ideals. She raised him to know that he was the product of generations of Prince upbringing, and that his Muggle blood was a mere footnote._

***

Though Severus had hardly cared about the number of friends he had growing up, much preferring the company of books, he found that Hogwarts was one gigantic popularity contest that he could never possibly win.

Eileen had raised him well enough, preparing him for the academic rigors he would face at school. She even taught him more _protective_ magic, as she called it, than any other boy his age had cause to know. Eileen taught him to be proud, brave, and focused. What she didn't teach him was how to deal with the fact that most children from _normal_ households didn't spend all of their free time prowling about the library, looking for new and dangerous subjects to master.

While the children in general weren't by any means kind to Severus, he also had threatened them all so much that they by and large left him alone, save for one particular group of Gryffindor boys who seemed determined to make every moment of the Slytherin's existence a living hell.

He would deal with them all. He would show them. He was the most brilliant wizard Hogwarts had seen in ages, he knew it. It would only be a matter of time before they recognised his greatness.

***

_There was a lot of anger in young Severus, a lot of hate. And so, so much resentment. He had a rare sort of temper bubbling just underneath the surface, and it didn't escape the notice of some of the other Slytherins, the ones who also spoke in whispers about a great wizard who was determined to turn the wizarding world on his head. Severus was still too young to fully understand, but he revelled in the attention that his talents gathered for him._

***

By Severus' third year, he'd already garnered a bit of a _reputation_. In Slytherin, he had the reputation of being a bit of a mad genius, wise and quick-tongued, even quicker with his temper and his wand. Severus had inherited all of Tobias' overflowing fury and none of Eileen's saintly patience, it seemed, and he spent more than his fair amount of time in detention, writing lines and organising files and cleaning useless supplies as punishment.

Outside of Slytherin, though, Severus' reputation simply was that of being a representation of everything that was wrong with his house: power-hungry, submerged to his figurative ears in the Dark Arts, cruel, unfriendly... the list could go on and on, but Severus knew that none of the things others thought of him were flattering.

He also swore that he didn't _care_ that others thought he was simply a thinly disguised maniac. He didn't need friends. He had his mother, who was well enough to send him letters by owl every so often. He had the occasional weekend trip into Hogsmeade to look forward to, where he could browse the shops and pretend that he could afford whatever he wanted. Severus had top marks in all of his classes (save Divination, utter load of tripe that it was). He had the older Slytherins asking for his help in class. He had _everything_ , if only he could ignore the whispers and giggles that he heard behind him as he wandered the halls.

And he also had something else: a shadow in the form of one Regulus Black.

"Hi," the first year said a few days after his sorting. Since the Sorting Hat had first declared him to be the newest Slytherin of the school year, Regulus had been watching Severus like a hawk. He seated himself unceremoniously on the sofa next to Severus in the common room, deftly invading the other boy's personal space. "My name's Regulus. You're Severus. My brother hates you."

Severus snorted, barely even glancing up at the intrusion. Third years didn't have time to bother with little firsties. "Who is your brother?" he asked casually, tapping his quill against his cheek as he looked over the assignment he was working on.

"Sirius Black," Regulus said, and there was a note of disdain in his voice when he gave his brother's name.

The older boy looked up at that, eyebrows raised. "Hm," he mused, studying Regulus for a moment before turning his attention back to the book in his lap.

"I want to be your friend," Regulus said, daring to reach for Severus' book, pushing it away.

Across the room, another boy snorted with laughter. "He hasn't got any friends, Black," the other boy called out. "You'd be the first. Snape spends all his time either getting pummelled by your brother or writing soppy letters to Malfoy."

"Shut up, Evan," Severus warned, quill already exchanged for his wand.

"Jus' givin' Black the truth and you know it," the other boy said, raising his hands in the air.

"Sirius talks about you all the time, like you're some sort of weird creature with two heads and wings and you breathe fire or something. I figured you couldn't be that bad, 'cos they wouldn't let weird beasts like that into Hogwarts, would they?" Regulus bounced impatiently on the sofa as he spoke, full of pent-up energy after a long day of classes. "And so I want to be your friend. Even if you're mean and think I'm stupid."

"You _are_ stupid," Severus retorted, and he snatched his book back from Regulus and stalked off into his room, away from the prying eyes of the common room.

***

_All good things must come to an end. For Severus, who had precious few good things to look forward to in his life, losing anything good proved to be a rather devastating experience. When he considered all of his memories, this was one he would routinely choose to reflect on the least._

***

When he was seventeen, he was summoned to the Headmaster's office. This wasn't an unusual occurrence, as he spent more and more time in there appealing the unfair sentences handed down to him by professors who clearly misunderstood his brilliance.

Today, however, the Headmaster was atypically sombre as he invited Severus in. "Sit, my boy," he said, gesturing at an armchair across from his desk. Severus settled uncomfortably on the chair, perched at the edge as though he were moments away from bolting were the Headmaster to start in on him and his antagonistic relationship with the wretched Potter boy.

"I have some unfortunate news, Severus," the Headmaster said, fingers smoothing over a piece of parchment sitting on his desk. Severus arched an eyebrow, hands folded delicately in his lap. "I know you are not one for overly long speeches of sentiment, so I suppose I shall just dispense with it." Dumbledore closed his eyes for the briefest of moments, an expression approaching sadness flickering across his face. "I've received word from your father."

"My father?" Severus' eyes widened, though his lips pushed together in a firm line. It must have been something truly awful for his father to figure out how to communicate with the wizarding world.

"Yes. I'm afraid, my dear boy, that the gist of his communication is..." Dumbledore slid the letter across the desk to Severus, who picked it up with imperceptibly shaking hands. "Your mother passed away yesterday. I'm so sorry, Severus. She was a tremendous witch, it is a shame to have lost her so early."

Severus didn't hear a word that came out of the Headmaster's mouth after he picked up the letter. His face paled as he clutched the letter tightly in his hands. He looked up at Dumbledore, dark eyes practically begging for it to be a lie, an elaborate hoax perpetrated by James Potter and Sirius Black.

"As your father did not provide for any means of transporting you, and as your family home is closed off to the Floo, I've arranged for you to travel with your former Head Boy. Lucius, you remember him, yes?" Severus nodded dully, fingertips still running over the text of his father's terse letter. "Lucius's mother was an acquaintance of your own, you know, and when he heard of you mother's passing, he immediately owled me offering his assistance. He always speaks most highly of you, as you know." The Headmaster's tone was restrained, and Severus wondered absently whether there was more to this story than he was being told. Dumbledore passed another letter, this one from Lucius, over to Severus, who took it and dropped it into his lap. "Lucius will be here in the morning; you can leave before breakfast so that you do not have to face the prying eyes of your fellow students."

"Yes, sir; thank you, sir," Severus said mechanically, not looking at the Headmaster, eyes darting instead between the thick block print of his father and the elegant script of Lucius. There were few people he ever found himself being so deferential towards, but the Headmaster was one of the few people at Hogwarts that Severus still had any modicum of respect for.

Dumbledore stared at Severus for a moment, and Severus squirmed, uncomfortable under the scrutiny. The Headmaster broke his gaze, instead offering a jar of sweets to Severus. "Candy?"

"No thank you, sir. I'd just like to go back to my room, Headmaster."

"Very well," the old man said, drawing the jar back to him. He pulled out a lemon candy, dropping it into his mouth. "Please come and find me if you feel you need me. Professor Slughorn would not mind."

"Thank you," he said, rising from his chair and heading to the door.

He wandered back to his room, but he did not sleep. He did not cry, either. No, he simply sat on his bed and stared at the set of letters in front of him. There was something that he was missing here, some piece of the puzzle he hadn't yet put in its place.

Not long after sunup, Severus made his way out of the dungeons, heading to the front gates of the school, where he was to meet Lucius. He had no idea what was going on; his father's letter was terse and unhelpful ( _Your mother's dead, service in two days._ ) and Lucius' own letter was similarly brief. He just knew that he had to go home. He had no desire to see his father, see how the drunken bastard would likely turn what should be a dignified service into a travesty. But someone had to be there for Eileen's sake, to make sure that it _wasn't_ a fiasco.

Lucius was at the gates, looking as regal as ever, albeit slightly bored. He tossed his walking stick casually from hand to hand, briefly glancing up at Severus as he made his way to the gates. "Ready to go?" he asked as Severus slid through the gate. The younger boy nodded, pushing the gate closed behind him before turning to face Lucius. "Ever side-along apparated before?" he asked, gesturing for Severus to walk with him away from the school.

"No," Severus said, shaking his head. "Though I've read about it, it really seems quite fascinating."

"Hm." Lucius ignored the young man, looking instead to the treetops. "Well, grab my arm," he said, extending his elbow to Severus. Severus looked at Lucius and then tentatively rested his hand on Lucius' elbow. Without warning, he felt a sudden pressure, practically crushing him; and then _nothing_. When he opened his eyes again, he felt dizzy and disoriented; he also was standing in the foyer of a very grand home which he had never seen before.

"Where--?"

"Malfoy Manor, Severus," Lucius said, disentangling himself from the younger boy. He smoothed a hand over his robes, putting them back to rights after their hasty travel. "Since your mother has no living wizarding relatives save you, my family's taken it upon itself to see that she receives all the proper wizarding rites and traditions, you know."

Severus glared at Lucius, arms folded over his chest. "I don't need your charity," he said flatly, "and if that's all you're offering, I believe I can arrange my own mother's burial."

"Severus, Severus," Lucius said, shaking his head sadly. "Without me, she'd be buried in a pauper's grave because her travesty of a husband's too busy pissing away his money on cheap lager and whores to do more than send you a one line note saying your mother's passed."

Severus' expression was cold, filled with barely concealed anger. "You don't know anything about my family," Severus said, face gone pale, eyebrows furrowed.

"Speaking of family, who _is_ your father?" Lucius asked nonchalantly, wandering away from Severus and seating himself on a plush armchair. "Because it seems to _me_ that I recall a very eager-to-impress first-year telling me that he didn't know his father, that the man could be dead for all he knew, and that Tobias Snape was a mere inconvenience, someone his mother took up with, no matter how ill-advised a union. And yet, here we are, beckoned back to your little shite-hole in Spinner's End by a man who none-too-proudly claims to be your father."

"I do not wish him to be my father!" Severus shouted hotly. "He is nothing, _nothing_ , a mere inconvenience who drove my mother mad, who kept her from her family and her _magic_ until she went so mad that she _died_ , Lucius! He is no father to me!"

Lucius ignored the outburst. "He is a _Muggle_ , Severus. You are a half-blood at _best_."

"Yes, he's a filthy sodding Muggle, and I wish nothing else than for it to not be so! Do you not think I wish to change it, every day I live?"

"You lied to me, Severus." Lucius clasped his hands at his chin, looking out at Severus.

"I omitted the truth," the younger man countered, voice raising higher and higher in his anger. "That is not entirely the same."

"Lie or omission, it doesn't matter. I have been paving the way for you in this world, you know, since the day you were sorted. I saw the difficulties the Sorting Hat had in placing you, but I saw how Slytherin won out. You have great ambition and great power, Severus, and you _know_ that I am your ticket to rising above your humble beginnings. I do not like being lied to, and you have been lying to me for several years now."

Severus scowled, huffing petulantly. "I have not--"

"Never mind all of that now. We have a service to attend, and you are not attending looking like _that_." He gestured rudely at Severus' rumpled school robes. "I have a set of mourning robes which Narcissa said can be charmed to fit you."

Severus' head reeled at the rapid-fire conversational pace that Lucius set; he had been lulled into a slower life in Slytherin since Lucius had left. No one else had quite matched Slytherin's former golden boy since, and Severus was woefully out of practice at keeping up with a more intellectual set.

"Lucius, why are you doing this to me?" Severus asked, brow furrowed as he tried to figure out precisely what Lucius wanted.

Lucius rose from his chair and circled around Severus. "Do not waste my time with foolish questions. I am doing this _for_ you because I wish for you to be able to move with grace and pride through circles you would have no access to without my assistance. You are by far one of the most talented young students I encountered at Hogwarts, and with me, you can achieve greatness, but only if I continue to plant the seeds of rumour, suggesting that your father _isn't_ Tobias Snape, dirty fucking Muggle that he is, and rather some dashing pureblood who ran back to his real wife whenever it became clear that your mother was a raving lunatic. Poor thing, went entirely mad and cut herself off from the wizarding world."

Severus' face turned white with rage, and his mouth opened and closed soundlessly. "You-- you can't just-- I don't believe that--"

"Severus," Lucius sighed, stopping behind the young man, placing his hands on his shoulders. "I can, and I will. You want people to recognise your genius, yes?"

"Yes, they _must_ \--"

"And you have been taking my letters seriously, yes? About my friends who would love to work with a potions maker of your calibre?" His fingers curled tightly at Severus' shoulders, who flinched at the unanticipated pain.

"Yes, Lucius, you know I'm serious about my intentions," he insisted, craning his head to try to meet Lucius' gaze.

"And you know that my friends are very adamantly against the mixing of blood, and yet there you are, parading your half-blood skills around like they're something to be proud of, parading around with a lie upon your lips and poison in your veins. You mean to undermine everything I stand for?"

"Lucius, _no_ ," Severus insisted, wrenching himself from his friend's grasp. "Lucius, I believe as fervently as you do in the ideals you have introduced me to. My mother taught me as much, for as long as I can remember. Everything we lost, we lost because of _him_. She became what she did because of the Muggle, not because of any sickness in her. She knew: she knew it was her punishment for going outside, for consorting with _him_. I am not a liar, Lucius. You cannot deny that I am already more powerful than your _friends_ , and you cannot deny that, whatever scheme you are playing at, I would fit well within it. But I cannot just allow you to-- to-- to sacrifice my mother's good name simply to achieve some misguided goal of placing me on a pedestal so you can gain all the glory for bringing me into the fold. Would I truly be that much more appealing to your associates if they believe me to be the pure-blooded son of a lunatic and an adulterer, as opposed to the half-blood son of a genius witch who simply made one bad bloody decision that killed her?"

Severus trembled with anger, but Lucius simply met his tirade with a satisfied smirk and one raised eyebrow. "What you fail to understand is how little I care about what you want, Severus. If you have to choose between achieving success beyond your wildest dreams, or being destined for obscurity but allowing your poor, dead mother to keep what's left of her good name, I would sincerely hope you would do what a _true_ Slytherin would do and choose the former."

The younger man studied Lucius quietly for a time, seemingly weighing his options. Then his shoulders sagged, almost imperceptibly: the only outward sign of defeat Severus would allow himself. "Where are the robes?" he asked, plucking at his necktie. "I should get dressed."

Lucius smiled, teeth bared in a parody of a grin. "Come along, Severus. This way, please."

***

_Even the good times were marred with the aftermath of that one day._

***

Severus should have been packing and preparing to head down to the leaving feast. Instead, he sprawled out on his bed, palms pressed into his eyes.

From across the room, Regulus bounced on an empty bed, pelting neckties at Severus.

"This is yours," (a tie bounced off of Severus' forehead) "and so's this one," (a second tie unfurled on his stomach) "and I think this might be mine, but it's ugly, you can have it." Regulus threw the final tie at Severus; it landed unceremoniously on his face, drooping around his nose.

"Regulus," the older boy sighed, "you could at least throw the ties in the trunk." He groped for his wand on the nightstand; finding it, he twitched it and sent all of the neckties left in the room zooming into his opened trunk.

"My way's more fun," Regulus pouted. "You're a good target."

Severus twitched his wand again; a pair of socks flew across the room and batted Regulus about the head.

"No fair!" he said, covering his face with his hands. "I can't do that and you know it."

"Mouth shut, mind closed," Severus said lazily, directing the socks about effortlessly with his wand. "They'll teach you next year, but you could have mastered it earlier if you'd tried harder."

Regulus finally snatched the pair of socks and threw them back into Severus' trunk, where they ceased twitching and merely nestled underneath a set of dress robes. "You're a crap teacher, Severus," he said with a laugh. "Couldn't concentrate with you being all... _you_ , know what I mean?"

Severus rolled his eyes. "No, and I'd rather keep it that way." He pushed himself up off of the bed, tucked his wand back into his shirtsleeve, and scooped up an armful of textbooks which he lovingly stored in his trunk. He wandered around the room, picking up more belongings which had tried to get away from him, depositing each in the trunk with care.

"Where are you going after you get off the train?" Regulus asked absently, peering into the trunk. "Back to Tobias?"

Even now, after all these years, Severus refused to acknowledge Tobias Snape as his father, especially not to his classmates. Especially after Lucius' warning. They shared a surname, and nothing more. They certainly didn't share a home for any longer than strictly necessary.

Severus shrugged. "Lucius offered me the guest room at the Manor. Narcissa's none too pleased, but..." His voice trailed off; he didn't care overmuch what Narcissa thought of his temporary stay. "I'll stay there until I can either reclaim my family home, or find my own place. I'd rather not rely on the Malfoy's hospitality for long."

"And then what? You've been awfully mum about what you're doing once you finish blowing this place out of the water." Regulus flopped back on the bed, head hanging over the edge.

"Lucius helped me secure a job in potions. I can't officially be hired until I get my N.E.W.T. results, but my marks are high enough that they've decided to waive the requirement and allow me to start straight away," Severus said absently. It was nearly an all-out lie, but he'd spent long enough in Slytherin to be able to lie without flinching. He pulled out his wand again and twitched it at his trunk to make more room for the shelf full of books that still needed to go in.

"What kind of potions? Research? Stock buying? An apothecary?" Regulus' face was red from dangling over the edge of the bed again; his necktie flopped against his cheek as he looked around to watch Severus.

"Creation. Invention," Severus replied, stacking another set of textbooks in his trunk. That was the truth, at least. "Do you ever stop asking questions?"

"No. I like asking questions." Regulus pulled himself back up onto the bed, flopping over onto his stomach.

"You like asking _me_ questions, Regulus," Severus said irritably before slamming the lid of his trunk shut. "There is a difference."

The younger boy shrugged. "What are you going to be creating?" Regulus fussed with the cuffs of his shirt, finally giving up and pushing his sleeves up to his elbows. Severus snuck a look at Regulus' arms: skin unblemished, white and milky smooth. It wouldn't be that way for long, not if the rumours he heard were true.

Unconsciously, he rubbed his own left arm. Severus had a job creating potions lined up, for certain. He would have his own lab, access to any ingredient he could ever possibly imagine. He would have the freedom to experiment to his heart's content without Horace Slughorn breathing down his neck, criticizing his every move. He also would have signed his entire life over to a man who was hell-bent on proving that blood purity really was the only way to save the wizarding world from self-destruction.

"Severus?" Regulus sat up, legs tucked underneath him. He was looking at Severus curiously; the older boy realised that he had been quiet for a very long time. "What are you going to be creating?"

"What do you think?" Severus asked, voice coming out in a harsh whisper. "Where do you think I am going to go? There is only one place my talents will be appreciated."

Regulus was quiet for a while, rolling Severus' words around in his head. "Oh," Regulus breathed finally, eyes widening ever so slightly. "Well." He looked at Severus with a new level of respect in his eyes. "You'll write, at least? Or visit on Hogsmeade weekends? I know Lucius always visited you on Hogsmeade weekends, so you can probably do the same."

Severus sighed, easing himself down to sit next to Regulus on the bed. Their shoulders barely touched, though Regulus seemed to lean imperceptibly closer to the older boy. "I can try. It may not be as easy for me as it was for Lucius to get away. I will be very busy." Lucius could coerce _anyone_ into letting him have his way; Severus didn't think he would ever have that sort of charisma. Maybe he could frighten his new _co-workers_ into letting him move about as he pleased.

Regulus hummed quietly under his breath, thinking Severus' words over. He rested his hand on Severus' thigh, tapping his fingers lightly against the older boy's leg. "Do you think there'd be a place for me, there, once I'm done at Hogwarts? Where you... work?" he asked suddenly, stilling the movements of his fingers as he spoke.

Severus' lips pulled into a thin line and he looked away from Regulus, suddenly very fascinated with observing the flickering light from the gas lamps. "Is that what you would want?" Severus asked, not taking his gaze away from the light. "My... employer... is known to be very... choosy regarding his employees."

"Severus, how could I not want that?" Regulus said, voice earnest. "It's all I know."

The older boy turned finally to look at Regulus, expression unreadable as always. He opened his mouth to speak but then changed his mind, pressing his lips back together. Severus rose from the bed, then crouched to the floor to lock his trunk. From there, he glanced back up at Regulus. "Your marks in potions are abysmal at best, Regulus," he said dryly, "but I imagine there would be many other roles in which you would find success. Not, of course, that it's my permission that you need to seek."

"No," Regulus said, twisting his hands in his lap, "but it's nice to know that you think it would be okay."

***

_Once you were marked, you were marked for life. They all learned that, in time. There was no way out. Well, no. There_ was _one way._

_There were days when he hated this memory more than he hated all of the others._

***

He had his orders. The Dark Lord was very specific on this task: within three days, Severus' latest target was to be dead. No exceptions. It was, by far, the worst assignment he'd ever received. Worse than the families, worse than the attacks on innocent civilians, worse than _anything_. But traitors deserved the worst -- or, in this case, the very _best_ the Dark Lord had to offer.

Severus had the windows of his lab thrown open. The heat outside was oppressive, but being uncomfortably warm was preferable to being uncomfortably _dead_ if the fumes from his current creation became too noxious.

A tentative knock came at the door to the lab. Severus sighed, waving his wand first at the cauldron to direct the steam to the window, and second at the door, taking down the wards and swinging it open. Regulus rushed in, pushing the door shut behind him.

"Severus," he said breathlessly, leaning up against the heavy wooden door. "I have it. I finished." His hand curled protectively over a pouch tied around his waist.

"Shh!" Severus said, gesturing rudely at Regulus. "The window's open. Anyone can hear your prattle. Sit down and be quiet for a while." He jerked his thumb at a rickety looking wooden chair across the room.

Regulus scowled at his friend, but kept his mouth shut, slinking over to the chair. He gathered the pouch in his lap, holding it with both hands. Severus turned his back on Regulus, focusing his attention on the potion he was brewing. It took a while, but finally the potion changed colours, shifting from bright silver to almost transparent white. He aimed his wand at the flames warming the cauldron, which promptly extinguished. Another twitch of the wand slammed the window shut; a third re-set the wards on his door.

"Now," he said slowly, ladling a small amount of the potion into a glass bottle, which he then slipped into his shirt pocket, "what was it you were going on about?"

"The locket, Severus," Regulus said in a rush. "Everything's done. I just need to go--"

Severus held up his hand, effectively silencing Regulus. "I don't want to know the details," he hissed. "Occlumens or no, do you realise how dangerous a position you are placing both of us in?"

Regulus dropped his head to his chest, properly remorseful. "I just wanted you to know. To be proud of me."

Severus pinched the bridge of his nose, eyelids fallen shut. "I am, you know that," he said through gritted teeth, "though I think you're a supreme fool for coming back here to revel in your little piece of victory. What if you had been followed? Will you endanger both of us, simply so you can find immediate gratification in my approval?"

"Severus, that's not what I intended--"

"I don't care what you _intended_ , Regulus, what matters is how little you _think_ before you _act_!" He jerked his wand forcefully at his cauldron, which immediately began emptying its contents into a row of beakers. Another angry twitch of the wand sent his supplies flying, knives and ladles and graters clattering together as they fell in a heap into the sink.

Satisfied, Severus slammed his wand on the table and stalked over to Regulus, towering over him. He took Regulus' chin in one hand, forcing his head up so their eyes met. "I want out as badly as you, Regulus," he whispered, voice low and dangerous, "but I am not willing to die for your betrayal. You may be, and if you are, then you really are a fool rather than just an impetuous brat who doesn't have a lick of common sense in his Salazar-damned body."

He released his grip on Regulus' chin and stalked back to his work table. Severus leaned over, elbows on the table, and pressed his face into his hands.

"I--"

"Shut up, shut up!" Severus shouted; Regulus blanched and looked down to the floor, staring intently at his shoes. "I'm trying to think," Severus added, voice muffled. He let one hand slip away from his face; he balled it into a fist and slammed it against the table. "I need a drink," he decided finally, straightening up and stalking over to a small cabinet above the sink. He pulled down a bottle of brandy and a glass and took them back to his workbench. A quick glance over his shoulder told him that Regulus was still examining the laces of his boots.

With a sigh and only a slight tremble in his hands, he filled one of the glasses and then withdrew the small bottle he'd stored in his shirt pocket. He closed his eyes, uncorked the bottle, and tipped the contents into the brandy.

Severus picked the glass up, clutching it tightly in his hands, and extended it to Regulus. "Here," he said. Regulus looked up, startled by the intrusion into his thoughts, and shuffled across the room, taking the glass from Severus' outstretched hand.

"Thanks," the younger man said, clasping the glass between his hands.

Severus looked at him for a long moment before he raised the bottle of brandy in a mock salute. "Cheers, you bastard," he said, clinking the bottle against Regulus' glass. "For a job well done."

He raised the bottle to his lips and drank deeply, and if Regulus would have asked, the redness in Snape's eyes, the wetness that threatened to spill, was simply due to the fumes of his cauldron.

Nothing else, nothing else.

***

_In two days, seventeen hours, forty-one minutes, and eighteen seconds, Regulus was dead. Severus knew. He could never forget. He knew the names of all of his dead, but this one? For the longest time, this one was the one that damned him the most._

***

"Sit, my boy," said Albus Dumbledore, gesturing broadly at the plush armchair in front of his desk. Severus noted that it was the very same chair he spent so much time in during his school days.

He slowly folded himself down into the chair, fingers clenching and unclenching in his lap.

"I understand you have an interest in teaching, is that so?" The Headmaster shuffled a stack of papers on his desk, pulling out a piece of parchment covered in Severus' spindly handwriting. "You've submitted applications for both of our open positions."

"Yes, sir," he said, not quite meeting the Headmaster's eyes. "But there is something else."

"Really?" Dumbledore adjusted his glasses on his nose and peered out at Severus. "Do tell."

Severus' right hand clamped over his left forearm and he gritted his teeth; he wondered if _He_ knew where he was right now, what he was planning.

"I have a proposition for you," he said, fingers pulling at his shirt cuffs. "I understand you are seeking more information about the Dark--" He paused, then shook his head. "About He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named."

Dumbledore slipped his glasses off, setting them on the desk. "And what is it, then, that you are offering me Severus?"

The young man's fingers trembled as he rolled up his left sleeve, exposing the Dark Mark in all its brutal glory. Dumbledore, to his credit, didn't even flinch as Severus extended his arm to him.

"I offer myself, Headmaster," he said softly, tearing his eyes away from the Mark to look instead at Dumbledore.

Dumbledore was silent for a while as he looked not at the Mark but at Severus, who lowered all of his barriers, all of his defences, just this once for the old man. Their eyes locked and Severus felt the swirling of thoughts and images in his mind as Dumbledore burrowed through the horrors that passed for memories that Severus offered up.

"So I see," the Headmaster said finally, tearing his gaze away from the young man in front of him. "Given your experience, I think you would make a most excellent professor of potions, my boy," he said, clearing his desk of the other applications with a flick of his wand. Severus' face fell a fraction at having his idea of teaching Defence dashed so quickly. Dumbledore ignored it and pressed on. "I do remember that you always showed a most remarkable aptitude for the subject."

"Yes, sir. Foremost in Britain at this point, by all estimations," Severus said, a note of pride creeping into his voice.

"I will put your name before the Board of Governors," Dumbledore said, rising from his chair and emerging from behind his desk. Severus rose as well, hurriedly pushing his shirt sleeve down. "I believe your old friend Lucius Malfoy sits on the Board, did you know? You should have no trouble being appointed with your credentials."

He extended his hand to his newest employee, who clasped it eagerly. "Do not give me cause to regret this appointment, Severus," Dumbledore said sternly.

"I shall not, Headmaster," he said, ducking his head politely. "Believe me, you shall not."

***

_Now, there was only one death he regretted more than all of the others._

***

"Severus..."

They locked eyes, and this time it was Dumbledore who let Severus in. Severus' expression was hard, furious, as he delved through the Headmaster's thoughts. Years and years of unrelenting service to two masters drove him to perfect this, this outer image of rage and hatred and barely concealed disgust hiding the fact that he was _destroyed_ , utterly _broken_ on the inside.

Inside, inside he was dying, just as surely as the Headmaster was, sprawled on the cold stone floor of the tower.

"Severus... please..."

His wand didn't even waver, his expression didn't even falter.

" _Avada Kedavra!_ "

And everything changed.


End file.
